Ye Olde Condimentee Haus, Part The One

Baby Balsamic and I ventured forth, good gentlefolk, unto the wild lands of Purdy beyond the Sound of Puget to a Ye Olde Renaissance Faire. Now, I have some experience with these places, having worked at one during the summer years ago. And even though time has passed and it's a different Faire in a different state, I would swear that the same people were there jousting and rousting and pushing ample white flesh into leather constraints. Lots of bowing and scraping and "welcome fyne people blah blah blah." Honestly, I would have been happier if they had more tents up to save us from the Washington heat or to simulate an English summer. Gimme some shelter, people. And of course, like with any outdoor festival, there was food, food, food galore. Mostly sausages and curly fries. Snow cones. Tarted up county fair food, to be precise. And no Renaissancie condiments, although I'm guessing that during the short, brutish lives the people led then, there really wasn't time to be mulling the dill and mustard seed into the fine paste of mustard. Lots of grilled onions and sauerkraut. Plastic packages of relish and mayonnaise.

Sigh,

Ye Olde Condiment Grrl